Chapter V: Part 5

They all stretched themselves on the hill-side, whence they could look far into the distant and lovely prospect beyond; and Eckart would then strive to subdue the regrets he felt for his own children, though they would appear as if passing over the mountain before him, while in the distance he thought he heard the faint echo of delicious music gradually growing louder.

Hark! comes it not like dreams
Before the morning beams?
From some far greenwood bowers,
Such as the night-bird pours,
So sweet, and such its dying fall?--
Those tones the magic song recall;
And Eckart sees each princely cheek
Flushed with the joys its victims seek;
Wild wishes seized each youthful breast
For some far unknown bourne of rest.

"Away to the mountains!" they cried; "the deep woods
Where the trees, winds, and waters make music for gods:
Sweet, strange, secret voices are singing there now,
And invite us to seek their blest Eden below."

In strange attire then came in view
The unblest sorcerer, and anew
Inspired the maddening youths, till bright
And brighter shone the sunny light.
Trees, streams, and flowers danced in the rays;
Through earth, air, heavens, were heard the lays;
The grass, fields, forests, trembling join'd
That magic tumult wild and blind.
Swift as a shadow fade the ties
That bind the soul to earth, and rise
Soft longings for unearthly scenes;
And strange confusion intervenes
Between the seen and unseen world,
Till reason from her seat is hurl'd,

And madly bursts the soul away
To mingle in the infernal fray.

The trusty Eckart felt it,
But wist not of the cause;
His heart the music melted,
He wondered what it was.

The world seems new and fairer,
All blooming like the rose;
Can Eckart be a sharer
In raptures such as those?

"Ha! are those tones restoring
My wife and noble sons?--
All that I was deploring--
My lost beloved ones?"

Yet soon his sense collected,
Brought doubts within his breast:
These magic arts detected,
A horror him possessed.

His children fade in air--
Mocks of infernal might;
His young friends vanished were--
He could not check their flight.

Yes, these his princely trust,
Late yielded to his power,
He now desert them must,
Or share their evil hour.

Faith, duty to his prince,
Is still his watchword here;
He still thinks of him, since
His last sad look and tear.

So boldly doth he now
Advance his foot and stand,
Arm'd proof to overthrow
The evil powers at hand.

The wild musician comes;
Eckart his sword has ta'en;
But ah! those magic tunes
His mortal strength enchain!

From out the mountain's side
Come thousand dwarfish shapes,
That threaten and deride,
And leap and grin like apes.

The princes fair are gone,
And mingled with the swarm;
True Eckart is alone,
And faint his valiant arm.

The rout of revellers grows,
Gathering from east to west,
And gives him no repose--
Around--before--abreast.

True Eckart's 'mid the din,
His might is lost and gone;
The hellish powers must win--
He of their slaves be one.

For now they reach the hill
Whence those wild notes are heard;
The dwarfish fiends stand still,
The hills their sides uprear'd,

And made a mighty void,
Whence fiercer sprites glower'd grim.
"What now will us betide?"
He cried:--none answered him.

Again he grasped his sword;
He said he must prove true:
Eckart has spoke the word,
And rushed amid the crew.

He saved the princes dear;
They fled and reach'd the plain;
But see, the fiend is near--
His imps their malice strain.

Though Eckart's strength is gone,
He sees the children safe;
And cried, "I fight alone--
Now let their malice chafe!"

He fought--he fell--he died
Upon that well-fought field;
His old heroic pride
Both scorn'd to fly or yield.

"True to the sire and son,
The bulwark of their throne,
Proud feats hath Eckart done;
There's not a knight, not one,

Of all my court and land,"
Cried the young duke full loud,
"Would make so bold a stand.
Our honour to uphold.

For life, and land, and all,
To Eckart true we owe;
He snatch'd our souls from thrall,
For all it work'd him woe."

And soon the story ran
Through Burgundy's broad land,
That who so venture can
To take his dangerous stand

Upon that mountain-side,
Where in that contest hard
True Eckart fought and died,
Shall see his shade keep guard,

To warn the wanderers back
Who seek th' infernal pit,
And spurn them from the track
That leads them down to it.

THE TANNENHAeUSER.

About four centuries had elapsed since the death of the Faithful Eckart, when there lived a Lord of the Woods who stood in high reputation as a counsellor at the imperial court. The same lord had a son, one of the _handsomest_ knights in all the land, highly esteemed and beloved by his friends and countrymen. Suddenly, however, he disappeared under very peculiar circumstances, which occurred previous to his departure; and no one could gather any tidings of him whatsoever. But from the time of the Faithful Eckart, a tradition respecting the Venus-berg had become very prevalent among the people, and it was asserted by many that he must have wandered thither, and there been devoted to eternal destruction.

Among the whole of his friends and relatives who lamented the young knight's loss, none grieved so much as Frederick of Wolfsburg. They had been early companions, and their attachment had grown with their years, insomuch that their subsequent attachment appeared rather the result of necessity than of choice. Meanwhile the Lord of the Woods died, having heard no account of his son; and in the course of a few years his friend Frederick married. He had already a playful young circle around him. Years passed away, and still no tidings arrived as to the fate of his friend, whom he was at length reluctantly compelled to number with the dead.

One evening, as he was standing under the tower of his castle, he observed a pilgrim approaching at some distance, in the direction of the castle-gates. The stranger was very singularly dressed; his whole appearance, and particularly his gait, striking the young knight as something odd and unaccountable. As the pilgrim drew nigh, he went to meet him; and, on examining his features, thought he could recognise them. He looked again, and the whole truth burst upon him: it was indeed no other than his long-lost friend--the young Lord of the Fir-woods himself. Yet he shuddered, and uttered an exclamation of surprise, when he contemplated the ravages which time had made in the noblest face and form--the theme of his former admirers,--of which only the ruins were to be traced;--no, he no longer appeared the same being.

The two friends embraced, while they still gazed at each other as upon perfect strangers but newly introduced. Many were the confused questions and answers which passed between them; and Frederick often trembled at the strange wild glances of his friend: the fire seemed to sparkle in his eyes. He agreed, however, to sojourn with him; but when he had remained a few days, he informed Frederick that he was about to go upon a pilgrimage to Rome.

Their acquaintance in a short time grew more familiar, and resumed its former happy and confidential tone. They recalled the mutual adventures and plans of their early years, though the Lord of the Woods seemed to avoid touching upon any incident which had occurred since his late disappearance from home. This only raised Frederick's curiosity the more; he entreated to be informed, and with yet more earnestness as he found their former regard and confidence increase. Still the stranger long sought, by the most friendly appeals and warnings, to be excused; till at last, upon fresh solicitation, he said, "Now, then, be it so! your wish shall be fully gratified; only never in future reproach me, should my history excite feelings--lasting feelings--of sorrow and dismay."

Frederick took him in the most friendly manner by the arm, and led him into the open air. They turned into a pleasant grove, and seated themselves on a mossy bank; the stranger then giving his hand to his friend, turned away his head among the soft leaves and grass, and, amidst many bitter sighs and sobs, gave way to the sad emotions which the recollection seemed to inspire. His friend, pressing his hand, tried every means to console him; upon which the stranger, again raising his head, began his story in a calmer voice, to the following purport:--

"There goes an ancient tradition, that several hundred years ago there lived a knight known by the name of the Faithful Eckart. It is farther believed that there appeared a mysterious musician at that time from one of the wonderful mountains, whose unearthly music awakened such strange delight and wild wishes in the hearts of his audience, that they would irresistibly follow him, and lose themselves in the labyrinths of the same mountain. At that period, hell is supposed to have kept its portals open there, in order to entrap, by such sweet irresistible airs, unhappy mortals into its abyss. Often have I heard the same account when I was a boy, and sometimes it used to make me shudder. In a short time it seemed as if all nature, every tone and every flower, reminded me, in spite of myself, of that same old fearful saying. Oh, it is impossible for me to convey to you what kind of mournful thought, what strange ineffable longing, one time suddenly seized me, bound me, and led me, as it were, in chains; and particularly when I gazed upon the floating clouds, and the streaks of light ethereal blue seen between them; and what strange recollections the woods and meadows conjured up in my soul. Often did I feel all the love and tenderness of nature in my inmost spirit; often stretched forth my arms, and longed for wings to fly into the embrace of something yet more beautiful; to pour myself, like the spirit of nature, over vale and mountain; to become all present with the grass, the flowers, the trees; and to breathe in the fulness of the mighty sea. When some lovely prospects had delighted me during the day, I was sure to be haunted with dark and threatening images that same night, all of which, seemed busy in closing against me the gates of life. One dream, in particular, made an indelible impression upon my mind, although I was unable to recall its individual features clearly to my memory.

"I thought I could see an immense concourse of people in the streets,--I heard unintelligible words and languages, and I turned away, and went in the dark night to the house of my parents, where I found only my father, who was unwell. The next morning I threw my arms round both my parents' necks--embracing them tenderly, as if I felt that some evil power were about to separate us for ever. 'Oh, were I to lose you,' I said to my dear father, 'how very lonely and unhappy should I feel in this world without you!' They kissed and consoled me tenderly, but they could not succeed in dispelling that dark foreboding image from my imagination.

"As I grew older, I did not mingle with other children of my own age in their sports. I wandered lonely through the fields; and on one occasion it happened that I missed my way, and got into a gloomy wood, where I wandered about, calling for help. After searching my way back for some time in vain, I all at once found myself standing before a lattice, which opened into a garden. Here I remarked pleasant shady walks, fruit-trees, and flowers, among which were numbers of roses, which shone lovely in the sunbeams. An uncontrollable wish to approach them more nearly seized me; and I eagerly forced my way through the lattice-work, and found myself in that beautiful garden. I bent down and embraced the plants and flowers, kissed the roses over and over, and shed tears. While lost in this strange feeling, half sorrow, half delight, two young maidens came towards me along the walk, one older, and the other about my own years. I was roused from my trance, only to yield myself up to fresh amazement. My eye reeled upon the younger, and at that moment I felt as if I had been suddenly restored to happiness after all my sufferings. They invited me into the house; the parents of the young people inquired my name, and were kind enough to send my father word that I was safe with them; and in the evening he himself came to bring me home.

"From this day forth the uncertain and idle tenour of my life acquired some fixed aim;--my ideas recurred incessantly to the lovely maidens and the garden; thither daily flew my hopes and all my wishes. I abandoned my playmates, and all my usual pastimes, and could not resist again visiting the garden, the castle, and its lovely young inmate. Soon I appeared to become domesticated, and my absence no longer created surprise; while my favourite Emma became hourly more dear to me. My affection continued to increase in warmth and tenderness, though I was myself unconscious of it. I was now happy! I had not a wish to gratify, beyond that of returning, and looking forward again to the hour of meeting.

"About this time a young knight was introduced to the family; he was acquainted likewise with my parents, and he appeared to attach himself in the same manner as I had done to the fair young Emma. From the moment I observed this, I began to hate him as my deadliest enemy. But my feelings were indescribably more bitter when I fancied I saw that Emma preferred his society to mine. I felt as if, from that instant, the music which had hitherto accompanied me, suddenly died away in my breast. My thoughts dwelt incessantly upon hatred and death; strange feelings burned within my breast, in particular whenever I heard Emma sing the well-known song to the lute. I did not even attempt to disguise my enmity; and when my parents reproached me for my conduct, I turned away from them with an obstinate and wilful air. I wandered for hours together in the woods and among the rocks, indulging evil thoughts, chiefly directed against myself;--I had already determined upon my rival's death.

"In the course of a few months the young knight declared his wishes to Emma's parents, and they were received with pleasure. All that was most sweet and wonderful in nature, all that had ever influenced and delighted me, seemed to have united in my idea of Emma. I knew, I acknowledged, and I wished for no other happiness--nothing more--nothing but her. I had even wilfully predetermined that the loss of her and my own destruction should take place on one and the same day; neither should survive the other a moment.

"My parents were much grieved at witnessing my wildness and rudeness of manner; my mother became ill, but it touched me not; I inquired little after her, and saw her only very seldom. The nuptial-day of my rival |was drawing nigh, and my agony proportionably increased: it hurried me through the woods and across the mountains, as if pursued by a grizzly phantom by day and by night. I called down the most frightful maledictions both upon Emma and myself. I had not a single friend to advise with--no one wished to receive me--for all seemed to have given me over for lost. Yes! for the detested fearful eve of the bridal-day was at hand: I had taken refuge among the rocks and cliffs; I was listening to the roaring cataract; I looked into the foaming waters, and started back in horror at myself. On the approach of morning, I saw my abhorred rival descending the hill at a little distance; I drew nigh--provoked him with bitter and jeering words; and when he drew his sword, I flew upon him like lightning, beat down his guard with my hanger, and--he bit the dust.

"I hastened from the spot--I never once looked back at him; but his guide bore the body away. The same night I haunted the neighbourhood of the castle where dwelt my Emma now. A few days afterwards, in passing the convent near at hand, I heard the bells tolling, nuns singing funeral-hymns, and saw death-lights burning in the sanctuary. I inquired into the cause, and was informed that the young lady Emma had died of the shock on hearing that her lover had been killed.

"I was in doubt what to think, and where to remain; I doubted whether I existed; whether all were true. I determined to see my parents; and the night after reached the place where they lived. I found every thing in commotion; the street was filled with horses and carriages; pages and soldiers were all mingled together, and spoke in strange broken words;--it was just as if the emperor were on the eve of undertaking a campaign against his enemies. A single light was dimly burning in my father's house; I felt a strange sensation, like strangulation, within my breast. When I knocked, my father himself came to the door, with slow soft steps; and just then I recollected a strange dream I had in my childhood, and felt, with horrible truth, that it was the same scene which I was then going through. Quite dismayed, I inquired, 'Why are you up so late to-night, father?' He led me in; saying, as he entered,--'I may well be up and watching, when your mother has only this moment expired.'

"These words shot like lightning through my soul. My father sat himself thoughtfully down; I seated myself at his side; the corpse lay upon a bed, and was appallingly covered over with white fillets and napkins. My heart struggled, but could not burst. 'I myself keep watch,' said the old man, 'for my poor wife always sits near me.' My senses here failed me. I raised my eyes towards one corner, and there I saw something rising up like a mist; it turned and motioned, and soon took the well-known lineaments of my mother, who seemed to regard me with a fixed and serious air. I attempted to escape, but I could not; for the figure motioned to him, and my father held me fast in his arms, while he softly whispered me, 'She died of grief, my son, for you.' I embraced him with the most terrific, soul-cutting emotion. I clung to him for protection like a feeble child,--burning tears ran down my breast; but I uttered no sound. My father kissed me, and I shuddered as I felt his lips, for they were deadly cold--cold as if I had been kissed by the dead. 'How is it with you, dear father?' I murmured in trembling agony; but he seemed to sink and gather into himself, as it were, and replied not a word. I felt him in my arms, growing colder and colder. I felt at his heart, but it was quite still; yet, in the bitterness of my woe, I held the body fast clasped in my embrace.

"By a sudden glimmer, like the first break of morning, which shot through the gloomy chamber, I there saw my father's spirit close to that of my mother; and both gazed upon me with a compassionate expression, as I stood with the dear deceased in my arms. From that moment I saw and heard no more, I lay deprived of consciousness; and I was found by the servants delirious, and yet powerless as a babe, on the ensuing morning.

"The memory of that hour is still as fearfully impressed upon my mind, and I am at a loss to conjecture how I was so unfortunate as to survive it. For it was now, indeed, that this once fair earth, with life, and all that life had to afford, became worse than dead and perished for me;--became a lone waste and wilderness, with all its soft airs, sweet flowers, pure streams, and blue starry skies. I stood like one, the last of a sudden overwhelming wreck, saved only to regret that he had not perished with all that was dearest to him on earth. How I lived on from day to day, I know not; till at last, unable longer to contend with the fiends of remorse that grappled me, I flew to society for relief. I joined a number of dissipated characters, who sought, like me, to lose the sense of their follies and enormities in the most dissolute pleasures. Yes, I sought to propitiate the evil spirit within me by obedience to its worst dictates. My former wildness and impatience revived, and I no longer placed any restraint over my wishes.

"I fell into the hands of an abandoned wretch of the name of Rudolf, who only laughed at my lamentations and remorse. More than a year thus elapsed; my anxiety and horror, in spite of all efforts to control them, daily gaining ground upon me, until I was seized with utter despair. Like all who experience that stage of such a malady, I took to wandering without any object. I arrived at distant and unknown places--spots unvisited by other feet; and often I could have thrown myself from some airy height into the green sunny meads and vales below, or rushed into the cool streams to quench my soul's fiery and insatiable thirst; yet though I had no fear, something unaccountable always restrained me. I made many attempts towards the close of the day; for I longed to be annihilated: but when the morning returned, with its golden beams, its fresh dews, and odorous flowers, I felt I could destroy nothing; and hope and love of life revived within my breast. A conviction then seized me, that all hell was conspired together to work my utter perdition; that both my pleasures and my pains arose from the same fiendish source; and that a malicious spirit was gradually directing all the powers and influences of my mind to that sole end. I yielded myself up to him, in order to dissipate these alternating raptures and agonies. On one dark and stormy night I went into the mountains; I mounted one of their highest and giddiest peaks, where foot of man never before trod; and there, with my whole strength of heart and soul, I invoked the foe of God and man to appear. I called him in language that I felt he must obey. My words were powerful--the fiend stood at my side, and I felt no alarm. While conversing with him, I could feel my faith in each haunted and wonder-working mountain growing stronger within me; and the base one taught me a song sufficiently potent of itself to shew me the right path into its labyrinths. It was thus I approached the strange mountain: the night was dark and tempestuous; the moon glimmered through a mass of dusky livid clouds; yet boldly and loudly did I sing that song. A giant form arose, and motioned me back with its staff. I drew nigher. 'I am the faithful Eckart,' exclaimed the supernatural form; 'and, praise to the goodness of the blessed God, I am permitted to hold watch here, to deter the unhappy from rushing into the base fiend's power.' I pushed on. In passing, I found my way led through subterraneous passages in the mountain. The path was so narrow as to compel me to force my way: I heard the gushing of the hidden waters, and the noise of the spirits engaged in forging steel, gold, and silver in their caverns, for the temptation and perdition of man. I heard, too, the deep clanging tones and notes in their simple and secret powers, which supply all our earthly music; and the lower I descended, the more there seemed to fall as it were a veil from before my eyes.

"Soon I heard other music, of quite an opposite character to the last; and my spirit within me struggled, as if eager to fly nearer and catch the notes. I came into more open space; and on all sides strange, clear, glowing colours burst upon my eye. This I felt was what I had all along sighed for;--deep in my heart I welcomed the presence of something I had long looked for--the deep-seated master-passion, of which I then felt the ravishing powers playing in their full strength within my breast. A swarm of the mad heathen deities, with the goddess Venus at their head, ran forward to greet me;--all demons, that assumed those ancients' names, and were banished thither by the Almighty, their career being fully run upon earth; though they still continue to work in secret.

"All the delights so familiar to the world I there found and enjoyed in their fullest and keenest zest. My appetite was as insatiable as the delight was lasting. The long-famed beauties of the ancient world were all there--all that my most ardent wishes required was mine; and each day that world grew brighter, and appeared arrayed in more charming colours. The most costly wines slaked our thirst; the most lovely and delicious forms played and wantoned in the air; a throng of loves hovered invitingly around me, shedding perfumes over my head; and tones of music burst forth from nature's inmost heart, and with their undulating freshness restored the ardour of our desires, while soft mists and dews stole over flowery fields, giving new essence to their ravishing odours.

"How many years thus passed, I am quite unable to state, for here was no time and no divisions; the luscious charm of virgin beauty burned in the flowers, and in the forms of girls bloomed the fragrant charm of the flowers; their colours seemed to enjoy a peculiar language; tones uttered new words; the world of sense was enclosed, as it were, within the glowing bloom of those luxurious flowers--the resident spirits within were ever engaged in celebrating their triumphant delights.

"How this was accomplished, I can neither explain nor comprehend; but soon, amid all this pomp of sin and unlawful pleasure, I began to sigh for repose, for the old innocent earth I had left, with all its virtuous, social endearments; and my desire grew as violent as it had formerly been to leave it for what I had there obtained. I wished to lead the same life as other mortals, with its mixed pains and pleasures. I was satiated with splendour and excess, and turned with thoughts of pleasure towards my native land. Some unaccountable mercy of the Almighty granted me the privilege of returning. I found myself once more in this present world, and still within reach of repentance and salvation; and I now think only of receiving absolution for my sins at the footstool of the Almighty Father, for which purpose I am on the way to Rome; that so I may again be numbered in the rank of other living men."

Here the sad pilgrim became silent; and Frederick fixed his eye upon him, with a searching glance, for some time. At last he took his poor friend's hand, and said: "Although I have not yet recovered from my astonishment, and cannot, in any way, comprehend your narrative; yet I conceive it impossible that all with which you have been thus fearfully haunted can be other than a strong delusion of the mind. For Emma herself is still alive, she is my own wife; we two have never differed, much less engaged with our weapons, during the whole course of our lives. No, we never hated each other, as you seem to think, though you were missing just before my marriage from home. Besides, you never, at the time, gave me a single hint that you loved my Emma."

Then he again took his bewildered friend by the hand, and led him into another apartment to his wife, who had just returned from a visit of some days to one of her sisters.

The pilgrim stood silent and thoughtful in her presence, while he examined the form and features of the lady. Then, shaking his head repeatedly, he said, in a low voice, "By Heavens! this is the most wonderful incident of all!"

Frederick now related to him every thing which had occurred to himself since they parted, and attempted to explain how he must have been labouring under a temporary delirium during many years past.

"Oh! I know right well," answered the pilgrim, "how it is. It is now that I am bewitched and insane; and hell has cast this juggling show before me that I may not go to Rome and seek the pardon of my sins."

Emma tried to withdraw his attention from the subject, by recurring to scenes and incidents of his childhood; but the pilgrim was not to be undeceived. One day he suddenly leaped up, declaring he must instantly set out, and forth he went without even saying farewell.

Frederick and his Emma often discoursed of the strange unhappy pilgrim. A few months had elapsed, when, pale and worn, in tattered attire and barefoot, his poor friend entered Frederick's apartment, while he was yet asleep. He pressed his lips to his, and exclaimed hastily, "The holy father cannot and will not forgive me. I must away and seek my former abode." And with this he went hurriedly away.

Frederick roused himself, and was going into his wife's chamber, when he met her women, who were all running to find him, in an agony of terror and alarm. The Tannenhaeuser had been there: he had come early in the morning, and uttering the words, "She shall not stop me in my career!" had despatched her upon the spot.

Frederick had not been able yet to recall his thoughts, when a strange feeling of horror came over him. He could not rest; he ran into the open air, and when they wished to bring him back, he exclaimed, "that the pilgrim had kissed his lips, and that the kiss was burning him until he should meet with him again."

He then ran rapidly in a variety of directions in search of the Tannenhaeuser and the mysterious mountain; and he was never afterwards heard of. It is reported by the people, that whoever receives a kiss from one of the dwellers of that mountain is unable to resist the enchantment; which draws him with magic force into its subterraneous depths.

THE RUNENBERG.

A young hunter was sitting in the midst of the mountain-ranges, musing beside his fowling-floor, whilst the rush of waters and of the woods resounded through the solitude. He was thinking on his destiny; how he was so young, and had forsaken father and mother, and his familiar home, and all the acquaintances of his native village, to seek out for himself a new country, to escape from the circle of recurring habits; and he looked up with a kind of wonder that he now found himself in this valley, and in this employment. Great clouds were passing over the heavens and sinking behind the hills; birds were singing from the bushes, and an echo answered them. He slowly descended to the foot of the hill, and seated himself beside a stream that was rushing over rugged stones with a foamy murmur. He listened to the changeful melody of the water; and it seemed as if the waves were telling him, in unintelligible words, a thousand things that nearly concerned him, and he could not but feel inwardly troubled that he was not able to understand their speech. Then again he looked around him, and thought he was joyful and happy; so he took fresh courage, and sang with a loud voice this hunting-song:

Joyful and merry amid the height
The huntsman goes to the chase;
His booty must appear in sight
In the bright green thickets, though till night
Its path he vainly trace.

And there his faithful dogs are yelling
Through the solitude sublime;
Through the wood the horns are telling,
And all hearts with courage swelling,
O thou happy hunting-time!

His home is clefts and caves among,
The trees all greet him well:
Autumnal airs breathe round him strong;
And when he finds his prey, his song
Resounds from every dell.

Leave the landsman to his labour,
And the sailor to the sea;
None so views Aurora's favour,
None so tastes the morning's savour,
When the dew lies heavily,

As who follows wood and game,
While Diana's smile doth shew,
Till some beauteous form inflame
His heart, that he most loved can name,
Happy hunting man art thou!

Whilst he thus sang, the sun had sunk deeper, and broad shadows fell across the narrow valley. A cooling twilight stole over the earth; while only the tops of the trees and the round summits of the mountains were gilded by the evening glow. Christian's heart grew still sadder: he liked not to return to his fowling-floor, and yet he might not stay; he seemed to himself so lonely, and he longed for society. Now he wished for those old books which once he had seen at his father's house, and which he never would read, though his father had often urged him thereto; the scenes of his childhood came before him, his sports with the youth of the village, his acquaintances among the children, the school that had so often distressed him; he wished himself back again amid those scenes, which he had wilfully forsaken to seek his fortune in unknown regions, on mountains, among strange men, in a new occupation. As it grew darker, and the brook rushed louder, and the birds of night with fitful wing began their devious wanderings, he still sat dejected and disconsolate, and quite unresolved what to do or purpose. Thoughtlessly he pulled out a straggling root from the earth; when suddenly he heard a hollow moaning under ground, which wound itself onward underneath, and only died away plaintively in the distance. The sound penetrated his inmost heart; it seized him as if he had unconsciously stirred the wound of which the dying frame of nature was expiring in agony. He started up, and would have fled away; for he had heard aforetime of the wondrous mandrake-root, which, on being torn, sends forth such heart-rending moans, that the person who has done it is fain to run away maddened by its wailings. As he was about to depart, a stranger stood behind him, and asked him, with a friendly air, whither he was going. Christian had wished for society, and yet he was terrified anew at this friendly presence.

"Whither so hastily?" asked the stranger again.

The young hunter tried to collect his thoughts, and related how the solitude had suddenly become so frightful to him, that he wished to escape from it; the evening so dark, the green shades of the wood so dreary, the brook spoke in loud lamentations, the clouds traversing the heavens, drew his longing over to the other side of the mountains.

"You are yet young," said the stranger, "and cannot well endure the rigour of solitude. I will accompany you; for you will meet with no house or hamlet within a league of this. On our way we can talk together, and tell tales to each other; so your troublous thoughts will leave you. In an hour the moon will emerge from behind the mountains; her light will also dispel the darkness from your mind."

They went on, and the stranger seemed to the youth almost as an old acquaintance.

"How came you on these mountains?" asked the former; "by your speech I perceive you are not at home here."

"Ah!" replied the youth, "much might be said on that subject; and yet it is not worth the talk, not worth relating. I was forced away by a singular impulse from my parents and relations; my spirit was not master of itself; like a bird which is taken in a net, and vainly struggles, so was my soul ensnared in strange imaginations and wishes. We dwelt far from hence, in a plain where all around, you see no hill, scarcely a height: few trees adorned the green level; but meadows, fruitful corn-fields, and gardens, extended far as the eye could reach; and a broad river glided like a mighty spirit by them. My father was gardener to the castle, and wished to bring me up to the same employment. He loved plants and flowers beyond every thing, and could devote himself the entire day long to the watching and tending of them. Indeed he went so far as to maintain he could almost converse with them; that he learnt from their growth and thriving, as well as from the varied form and colour of their leaves. I, however, was averse to the gardening occupation; and the more, as my father tried to persuade me thereto, and even with threats to compel me. I wished to be a fisherman, and made the attempt; but neither did a life upon the waters suit me: I was then apprenticed to a tradesman in the town; but soon came home from him also. Once on a time my father was telling of the mountains, which, in his youth, he had travelled over; of the subterranean mines and their workmen; of hunters and their occupation; and suddenly there awoke in me the most decisive impulse, the feeling that now I had found my destined way of life. Day and night I mused thereon, and imagined high mountains, caves, and pine-forests, before me: my fancy created for itself immense rocks; I heard, in thought, the din of the chase, the horns, the cry of the hounds and of the game; all my dreams were filled with these things, and therefore I had no longer any rest or peace. The plains, the castle, my father's little contracted garden with the prim flower-beds; the confined dwelling; the wide heaven extended all around so dreary, and embracing no heights, no lofty mountains,--all became more and more melancholy and odious to me. It seemed to me as if all men about me were living in deplorable ignorance, and that they would all feel and think as I did, if once the feeling of their misery could arise within their souls. Thus I harassed myself: till one morning I formed the resolution to leave my parents' house for ever. I had found in a book some descriptions of the nearest mountains, with pictures of the neighbouring districts, and thereafter I directed my way. It was in the early spring, and I felt myself quite light and joyful. I hastened with all speed to leave the plain; and, one evening, I saw in the distance the dim outline of the mountain-chains lying before me. I could scarcely sleep in the inn, so impatient was I to tread the region which I regarded as my home: with the earliest dawn I was awake, and again upon my journey. In the afternoon, I found myself already below my much-loved hills; and, as a drunkard, I went on, then stopped awhile, looked backward, and felt as if intoxicated with the strange and yet familiar objects. Soon the plain behind me was lost to my sight; the forest-streams were rushing to meet me; beech-trees and oaks sounded down to me from steep precipices, with waving boughs; my path led me past giddy abysses; and blue hills were standing high and solemn in the distance. A new world was unlocked to me. I was not weary. So I came, after certain days, having traversed a great part of the mountains, to an old forester, who, at my earnest request, took me to instruct me in the arts of the chase. I have now been three months in his service. I took possession of the district in which I was to have my abode, as of a kingdom. I made myself acquainted with every cliff and cleft of the mountains; in my occupation, when at early dawn we went to the woods, or felled trees in the forest, or exercised my eye and my fowling-piece, or trained our faithful companions, the dogs, to their duty, I was completely happy. But now I have been sitting here for eight days upon my fowling-floor, in the loneliest part of the mountains; and this evening my mind grew so sad as never in my life before; I seemed so lost, so utterly unhappy; and even now I cannot rid myself of that melancholy humour."

The stranger listened attentively, as they both wandered through a dark alley of the wood. They now came into the open country; and the light of the moon, which above them was standing with its horns over the mountain top, greeted them friendly. In undistinguishable forms, and many sundered masses, which the pale glimmer again deceptively united, the cleft mountain-range lay before them; in the background was a steep hill, on which an ancient weather-worn ruin shewed ghastly in the white light. "Our way parts here," said the stranger; "I am going down into this hollow; there, by that old mineshaft, is my dwelling: the metal ores are my neighbours; the mountain-streams tell me wonderful things in the night-season; thither, however, thou canst not follow me. But see there, the Runenberg, with its rugged walls, how beautiful and alluring the old stone-work looks down to us! Wert thou never there?"

"Never," replied young Christian. "I once heard my old forester relate strange things of this mountain, which, foolishly enough, I have forgotten; but I remember my mind was horror-struck that evening. I should like at some time to ascend the height; for the lights are there most beautiful; the grass must there be very green, the world around very strange; and, perhaps, one might find up there many a wonder of the ancient time."

"You can scarcely fail," replied the other; "whoever only understands how to seek, whose heart is right inwardly moved thereto, will find there old friends, and all that he most ardently desires." With these words the stranger rapidly descended the hill, without bidding his companion farewell; he soon vanished in the thicket, and shortly after the sound of his footsteps also died away. The young hunter was not surprised, but only quickened his footsteps towards the Runenberg, whereto every thing beckoned him: thither the stars seemed to shine, the moon pointed out a bright path towards the ruins; light clouds rose up in that direction; and out of the depths the waters and rushing woods persuaded him, and spoke to him new courage. His steps were as if winged; his heart beat; he felt within a joy so great, that it almost rose to anguish. He came into places he had never seen before, where the rocks became steeper, the foliage disappeared, and the naked walls called out to him as with angry voices, while a lonesome moaning wind drove him on. Thus he hastened on without stopping, and came late after midnight upon a narrow footpath which ran along by the side of an abyss. He heeded not the chasm which yawned beneath, and which threatened to devour him, so impelled was he by wild imaginings and unintelligible desires. Now his perilous way drew nigh a high wall, which appeared to lose itself in the clouds; the path grew narrower at every step, so that the youth was obliged to hold fast by the projecting stones to avoid plunging into the gulf below.

At length he could proceed no further; the path ended under a window; he was obliged to come to a stand, and knew not whether to turn or stay. Suddenly he saw a light, which behind the ancient wall appeared to be moving. He looked after the gleam, and discovered that he could see into an antique spacious hall, strangely adorned with various kinds of precious stones and crystals, that sparkled in manifold splendour, and mysteriously reflected each other from the wandering light, which was borne in the hand of a tall female form, who, in a thoughtful mood, was pacing up and down the apartment. She seemed not to belong to mortals, so large, so powerful were her limbs, so firm her countenance; but the enraptured youth thought he had never before seen or imagined such beauty. He trembled, and yet secretly wished that she might come to the window and perceive him. At last she stopped, set down the light upon a crystal table, and sang with a thrilling voice:

Where can the Ancients keep,
That they do not appear?
From diamond pillars weep
The crystals, many a tear,
In full fountain falling round;
And within sad tones resound.
In the waves so clear and bright,
And transparent as the light,
There is form'd the beauteous glance,
That doth the raptur'd soul entrance,
And moves the heart in glowing dance.
Come, ye spirits all,
To the golden hall;
Raise, from out the depths of gloom,
Heads that sparkle; quickly come,
Ye that are of wondrous power,
Be of hearts the masters now,
Where bright tears with passion glow;
Be the rulers of the hour.

As soon as she had ended, she began to undress, laying aside her garments in a splendid wardrobe. First, she took from her head a golden veil, and her long black hair flowed in full ringlets down to her waist; then she loosed her bosom-dress, and the youth forgot himself and the world in gazing at the superterrestrial beauty. After some time, she went to another golden cabinet, took thereout a tablet that glittered with inlaid stones, rubies, diamonds, and all kinds of jewels, and stood contemplating it with scrutinising look. The tablet seemed to form a strange unintelligible figure, with its several lines and colours; one while, as its brightness glanced towards him, he was painfully dazzled; then, again, a soft green and blue playing over it, refreshed his eye; but he stood devouring the objects with his looks, and at the same time absorbed in deep thoughts. In his inmost heart there was opened up an abyss of forms and harmony, of longing and desire; troops of winged tones and sad and joyful melodies passed through his spirit, that was moved to the very foundation: he saw a world of pain and hope arise within himself, mighty wondrous rocks of trust and daring confidence, deep torrents as of melancholy flowing by. He no longer knew himself; and he was terrified as the fair one opened the window, and reaching forth to him the magic tablet, spoke to him these few words: "Take this in remembrance of me!" He grasped the tablet, and felt the figure; the invisible within him immediately passed away, and the light, and the potent beauty, and the strange hall, had vanished. As it were, a dark night, with cloud-curtains, fell within his inmost soul; he searched after his former feelings, after that inspiration and incomprehensible love; he gazed at the costly tablet, in which the sinking moon was mirrored faint and bluish.

He still held the tablet fast pressed within his hands, when the morning dawned; and he, exhausted, giddy, and half-asleep, fell headlong down the steep mountain-side.

The sun shone on the face of the stupified sleeper; who, on awaking, found himself again upon a pleasant hill. He looked around, and beheld far behind him, and scarcely discernible at the extreme horizon, the ruins of the Runenberg; he searched for the tablet, and could no where find it. Astonished and perplexed, he tried to collect his thoughts and unite his recollections; but his memory was as if filled with a confused mist, in which shapeless and unknown forms were wildly contending with one another. His entire former life lay behind him, as in a far distance; the strangest and the most familiar were so mingled together, that he found it impossible to sever them. After long struggle with himself, he at last thought that a dream, or sudden madness, must have befallen him that night; but still he could not understand how he had wandered so far into a strange and remote region.

Still, almost overcome with sleep, he descended the hill, and came upon a beaten path, which led him down from the mountains on to the open country. All was strange to him; he at first thought that he should find his native home, but he saw before him quite a different region, and at length conjectured that he must be on the southern side of the mountains, which in the spring he had trodden from the north. Towards noon he stood over a village from whose cottages a peaceful smoke was ascending; children clad in festal dress were playing on the green, and from the little church came the sound of the organ and the chant of the congregation. All seized him with a sweet, indescribable melancholy; all so stirred his heart, that he was forced to weep. The narrow gardens, the little cottages with their smoking chimneys, the neatly parted cornfields, reminded him of the wants of poor human nature, of its dependence on the friendly earth, in whose beneficence it is obliged to trust; while the singing and the tones of the organ filled his heart with a devoutness he had never felt before. His feelings and wishes of the previous night appeared to him reckless and wicked; he wished again, in a childlike, dependent, and humble spirit, to unite himself to men as his brethren, and to withdraw from his ungodly purposes and opinions. The plain, with its little river that wound itself in manifold turnings about the gardens and meadows, seemed charming and alluring to him; he thought with fear on his abode in the solitary mountains amid the desolate rocks; he longed that he might dwell in this peaceful village; and with these feelings he entered the crowded church.

The singing was just ended, and the priest had begun his sermon, which was on the kindness of God in the harvest; how His goodness feeds all, and satisfies every living thing; how wonderfully in the corn He has provided for the support of the human race; how the love of God is incessantly communicating itself in bread; and therefore the devout Christian may, with thankfulness, perpetually celebrate a holy supper. The congregation was edified. The young hunter's looks were fixed on the pious preacher, and observed close by the pulpit a young maiden, who seemed, beyond all others, resigned to devotion and attention. She was slim and fair, her blue eye gleamed with the most piercing softness, her countenance was as if transparent, and blooming with the tenderest colours. The stranger youth had never felt himself and his heart so before; so full of love and so calm, so resigned to the stillest and the most enlivening feelings. He bowed himself in tears, when the priest at last spoke the blessing; he felt penetrated by the holy words, as by an invisible power; and the shadowy image of the night sank down behind him, like a spectre, into the deepest distance. He left the church, stopped a while under a tall lime-tree, and thanked God in a fervent prayer, that, without his deserving, He had freed him from the snares of the evil spirit. The village was that day celebrating the harvest-feast, and all men were determined to be joyful; the children gaily dressed were rejoicing in cakes and dances; the young men on the village square, which was encircled with young trees, were preparing all things for the festival, where also the musicians were sitting and trying their instruments. Christian went again into the fields, in order to collect his thoughts and fix his contemplations, and then returned to the village, where now all were united in joyfulness and celebration of the festival. The fair Elizabeth was also there with her parents; and the stranger joined himself to the joyful throng. Elizabeth was dancing; and he had, in the mean time, entered into conversation with the father, who was a farmer, and one of the richest men in the village. The youth and speech of the stranger seemed to please him, and so in a short time it was agreed that Christian should remain with him as gardener. This he was able to undertake; for he hoped that now the knowledge and occupations he had so much despised at home would stand him in good stead.